


Backseat Jumpscares

by DickBaggins



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blow Jobs, Blow Jobs in a Car, Clowns, Fear, Fear Play, M/M, Wincest - Freeform, fear kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-21
Updated: 2015-02-21
Packaged: 2018-03-14 09:53:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3406301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DickBaggins/pseuds/DickBaggins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean scares Sam after a hunt at a carnival and, while clowns still totally suck forever, the pulse-pounding, heart-stopping, boner-inducing fear is another thing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Backseat Jumpscares

**Author's Note:**

> Early season Wincest, like s2 probably. For Tanya.

 Sam didn't like anything about this case, even though it was pretty cut and dry; it was _obviously_ a revenant of some sort, a creepy walking corpse ghoul who found employment at an old timey freak show doing impossible death-defying stunts, while conning his – it's, whatever – way into the show's good graces and then snacking on his fellow performers. Dean hadn't made any clown jokes though, not yet, but Sam was on fucking edge waiting for the shoe to drop.

It was after midnight when they finally ganked the thing and hobbled back to the car with wounds to lick: a twisted ankle and a stinger of a bloody nose for Sam, while Dean, although he hadn't said anything, had his left arm tucked and immobile. His other arm was under Sam, helping him shuffle along. Sam leaned heavily against the trunk, wiping his nose on his sleeve for the billionth time, watching Dean stiffly move around and open one of the back doors and disappear inside for a moment.

“Get in back, stretch your busted baby giraffe hoof out,” Dean said, walking back to Sam and tugging him towards the backseat, not as gingerly as Sam would have liked but he was okay; already the pain in his ankle was starting to dull, but maybe it was just because his nose hurt like a son of a bitch. Either way, he was looking forward to reclining in the backseat while Dean drove them back to the motel, already wondering if he could fall asleep or if the dirt roads might be too bumpy.

So his mind was elsewhere when he slid onto the smooth leather, already starting to relax when this twisted grimacing painted-up _thing_ seemed to leap out of the shadows. He jumped and yelped half a second later, scrabbling behind him for the door but it was open and he nearly fell out. He felt clammy, every nerve on edge, his heart pounding so hard he was seeing red. He tried to yell for Dean but his voice hitched breathlessly in his throat, his eyes fixed on the murderous snarling clown face half-shadowed in the backseat and coming for him.

He raced through thoughts and grasped at nothing; oh god it was a clown that killed everyone, they were wrong and now it's going to kill him, and he knew it, he just fucking knew it all along that _this_ was how it would happen, and why the fuck was Dean laughing behind him?

Sam blinked rapidly, eyebrows drawing down, forcing himself to sit up straight and look at the thing that was, apparently, not advancing at all.

Huh. He could have sworn...

His face went hot and red, sweat beading on his forehead and his lip, the adrenaline spike making his whole body tense and tight so that he jumped again when Dean clamped a hand on his shoulder, his deep laugh cutting through Sam's pounding pulse.

“Oh my god,” Dean chuckled, “You're just the most precious scared little boy.”

Sam glanced up helplessly at him, mouth slacked open and panting. “W-where the fuck did that clown come from?” he asked, hazy-scared and nonsensical, just blinking owlishly at Dean until his brother apparently took pity.

“Aw, Sammy,” he muttered, patting the side of Sam's face, reaching around him to grab the offending visage and pull it out.

Sam shuddered as the thing passed him, even though he could see what it was now, just a faded wooden stand up, probably thirty years old or more, crudely repainted so it was cracked and grotesque. “Get rid of that thing,” he squeaked out, watching Dean hold it up and purse his lips thoughtfully at it.

“I dunno, I was gonna give it a name,” Dean snickered, turning it back around to Sam and making it bounce up and down, blurring it's terrible face into something even worse.

“Stop it!” Sam turned away, swearing under his breath, “You're sick, that _thing_ is sick.”

“Chuckles? No, too obvious. Bernie? You ever heard of a 'Bernie the Clown?' Naw, that's not it either. Hmm. Maybe it's a girl?”

Sam winced a little, sliding away and twisting so he could finally recline; his breath was still fast, his whole body jittery and overheated and worst of all, his traitorous dick was hard, uncomfortable in his jeans and fucking throbbing. “Just get rid of it,” Sam told Dean, again, shrugging his jacket off because it was covered in blood and he needed something to fling over his tented out pants. He really wasn't up to explaining _that_ whole thing to Dean.

But it was too late; Dean's interest in the clown apparently waned and he was staring down at Sam, eyebrows raised. “So, uh, you're...”

“Shut up,” Sam muttered, turned his head but his nose ached, throbbed way worse like that so he had to go back to propping himself against the door. He watched Dean toss the macabre clown stand-up away into the dirt and advance cat-like on the bench seat, eyes mischievous and locked with Sam's, still wide, scared and blown out.

“If I knew, I woulda scared the fuck outta you long ago,” Dean grinned at him, wide and slightly predatory and Sam's heart picked up again, he couldn't help it.

“Not...it's not that,” Sam fumbled for a response while Dean plucked the coat off his crotch and palmed him through the jeans, rough and demanding and shit, he gasped so hard he almost choked, certainly saw stars.

“Lying,” Dean rasped, gingerly shouldering one of Sam's long legs towards the floor so he could perch between his brother's legs and nuzzle the hard ridge of his dick with his cheek. “Tell me you like it.”

“W-what?” Sam panted, mind foggy with arousal, with pulsing fear.

“Sammy,” Dean crooned, lazily mouthing at his dick through his jeans now, all hot breath against the denim and obscene noises, “Just tell me you like gettin' jump-scared.” He tugged at Sam's belt all of a sudden, hard, and his index finger pressed against his fly. “Or I'll make Bernie the Clown watch...”

“Shit, fuck, _no_ ,” Sam sputtered, glancing nervously behind his brother and at all the windows he could see even though, shit, he _knew_ it was a stand-up, it wasn't _real_ , but it was still terrifying.

“He out there, Sammy?” Dean teased him, still rubbing against his brother's trapped dick while his fingers danced around his belt, his zipper. “He likes to watch scared little boys, I bet, likes to watch them cream their pants.”

“Shut _up_ ,” Sam whined again, skin crawling even while his dick was twitching, desperate for more contact from Dean, more than just the smooth firm nuzzle of his face. He needed to stuff his dick in his brother's mouth like, ten minutes ago, but Dean just blinked pretty at him and mouthed him again. Sam shuddered, whining, eyes fluttering shut. “Okay,” he forced out quietly, had barely ever admitted it to himself let alone his brother, “Okay, I like the whole...jump-scare thing. I guess.”

“Atta boy,” Dean grinned, sliding Sam's fly down, finally, shoving his fist inside while he undid the belt too. “Gonna stuff our new friend in the trunk, in that case.”

“What? No, Dean,” Sam started to protest, a shiver of revulsion trickling up his spine, spreading out along his neck and the back of his head like icy fingers. “Dean, don't-”

But Dean closed his plush mouth around Sam's dick and pushed and _swallowed_ and Sam lost all his fight, tangled his fingers in Dean's short hair so they tugged hard, so he could fuck his brother's mouth with the most desperate urgency he'd felt in a long, long time.

And he swore, absolutely swore, that when he came down Dean's throat a few minutes later, he saw a black shape flutter across the back windshield that made his heart pound and his stomach drop but this time, he leaned into the beautiful discomfort, the terrible tightness in his chest that made his knuckles go white in his brother's hair, made his whole body shake with fear and release and oh my god, it was screamingly good.

“Shit,” Dean said, all rough raw voice, lips spit and come shiny, eyes watery. “I mean, goddamn, Sam, that was-”

“Just c'mere,” Sam stretched his arms out and shifted a bit, no small feat to get them jammed up together in the back seat but it worked somehow, and he needed it anyway, no matter where they were, needed Dean's solid body hot and comforting against him, needed to bury his sweaty forehead in Dean's neck and wrap himself around his brother.

“That wasn't...too much? Cause you're kinda...”

“Fine,” Sam told him quickly, pressing his lips against his neck, “Just intense. Is all.”

“Heh, yeah,” Dean agreed, absently but not demandingly shifting his own hard-on against Sam's hip. “Fun though?”

“Fuck yeah,” Sam sighed out, a lazy smile curving against his brother's skin. “You got any...you know, anything like that?”

“Naw,” Dean answered, too quick for Sam's liking, so he knew there was _something_ there, somewhere. “Just kinda wanna come on your face right now,” he added, casually, “But that's pretty normal.”

“Right,” Sam mumbled; he'd get to the bottom of it later. “Alright, c'mon.”

“Yeah? Don't need more time to - “

“No, fucking get in my mouth,” Sam ordered, watching Dean awkwardly shuffle around, shifting and scrunching himself down until he had his legs slung over Sam's chest, one hand in his bangs and the other tugging his dick out. He hesitated though, mouth twisting around while he looked down at Sam.

“Could you....”

“What?” Sam panted, eyes passing from his brother's thigh cock to his eyes, fighting to stay there.

“I dunno, it was just kinda hot when you...looked scared?” Dean winced out, voice higher than usual and tight and Sam almost fucking _laughed_ , it was all so convenient.

Turned out though, it was just as much fun _playing_ scared as actually _being_ scared, and when Dean finally painted his brother's lips and his tongue and much of his face all white with come, Sam nutted with an embarrassed groan, hadn't even been paying attention to his own dick but god, it was good, it was all very, very good.

“Thanks,” Dean shuddered out, still above him, absently sliding his dick around int he mess of Sam's face, which had gone slack with happiness, with the pleasant boneless relaxed feeling that could only accompany two quick orgasms, an intense facial, and his body finally starting to calm down after all those nerves, all that rough adrenalin.

“Anytime,” Sam grinned, licking his lips clean, humming happily at the sharp familiar taste. “You're still not bringing that thing home,” he joked, felt okay enough _to_ joke about the...incident.

“Watch me,” Dean grinned back, wide and dickish, tucking himself back in his jeans and sliding out of the car backwards without bashing his head on anything, somehow.

Sam heard him scrabbling around outside but he didn't want to move, too content and relaxed. He heard the trunk open, heard something thump onto the window and he knew he shouldn't look because oh god, he knew what it would be. And it was, the fucking clown with Dean grinning behind him, pressed up against the glass and Sam still jumped, but it was much less reactionary than before; he just gave Dean the finger and shifted around to clean himself; still, a little shudder ran through him when the trunk closed and he couldn't help but think of that grotesque face stuffed in there, _waiting_ , ready to pop out the next time he opened it.

“Fucking clowns,” he muttered under his breath.

“You love it,” Dean teased him, just sliding into the front seat, catching Sam's eye in the rearview mirror while he started the car up, grinning all the way back to the motel. Sam couldn't tell which of them liked it more. 


End file.
